Hope Alive
by loonyloopylvpin
Summary: He's nearly made it home. Nearly. But the closer he gets, the more fearful he becomes of what he will find when he gets there.


I wrote this in an afternoon so don't judge lmao. I'm weirdly proud of it too. Enjoy – K

Hope Alive

The nights are getting longer, the winds colder, until one night, a storm forces the group to take shelter in an abandoned warehouse. The wind howls like a feral animal throughout the night, the rain thunders on the rooftop, and no matter how hard they wrap up, there is no way to stay warm. Until someone batters through one of the heavy doors and finds a haven; shelf upon shelf of bed linen, blankets and towels. How it's not been scavenged and stolen is remarkable.

By some unspoken agreement, they decide to stay a few days. The storm is not letting up and they've been travelling for weeks. They let the horses in through a side exit and seal the windows best they can to keep the icy draughts at bay. Most of the bedding they've found is moth-eaten and coated with cobwebs, but it is still warm. They layer towels on the concrete floor, duvets on top of them, then snuggle into sleeping bags and sigh contentedly at the warmth returning to their fingertips.

Their meagre rations will not last long here. Soon enough, they will have to move on to find food and to continue toward their destination. But for now, even their most driven member is okay with wrapping up in blankets and resting a while.

After two nights of relative peace, a walker slips in while they are sleeping. No one is killed, but it is a stark reminder of what waits for them outside. They decide on one more night, then they will head back out. Everyone murmurs their agreement, but Morgan notices the hesitation on his old friend's face as he nods. Hesitation that makes no sense.

They have both been on watch nearly constantly since they found the warehouse, only stopping to sleep. Perhaps he is just exhausted. Tonight, they let others take over so that they can rest, bracing themselves to return to their journey. Morgan waits a while, watches his friend toss and turn and finally give up on sleep. And then decides that what Rick probably needs, more than food or warmth or rest, is someone to talk to.

It had been a shock to find Rick a few months ago, so far from home, in that bleak, desolate place. He wasn't the same man either; more battle-worn, wearier, quieter. Morgan approaches him now and observes his solemn face a moment. Wrapped in a fleecy blanket, he looks younger, despite the overgrown, greying beard. His hair is long too, curled and matted in places, worn thin over his left ear where a deep, pitted scar curves from temple to crown. His eyes, the same clear blue, stand out from his weathered skin. He is a long way from the man in the hospital gown Morgan had happened upon all those years ago. But he is still his friend.

Rick does not offer a smile while Morgan sits next to him. He smiled on the day they found him, folded in Morgan's arms, body shuddering with sobs but beaming all the while. But the toll of his torment over the past seven years was evident, and he has not smiled since. They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the rest of their group settle into bed, laughing amongst one another.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?" asks Morgan. He does not look at Rick while he says it, and Rick stays silent for so long that he wonders if he didn't hear him. He turns to him and sees his head bowed towards his shrouded knees, fists clenched and pressing into his eyes.

Morgan does not push him. He doesn't expect him to offer much of an explanation as to what's wrong with him after it took so long for him to explain exactly what had happened to him over the past several years; from the explosion back in Virginia, to the torturous imprisonment on the other side of the country. But right now he looks so tormented that Morgan is tempted to pull him in for a hug, as if he were a child in need of comfort.

But Rick, against all odds, begins to speak, pulling his fists away from his face and swiping a stubborn tear from the corner of his eye. "I keep thinking about what we're gonna find there."

There means Alexandria, of course. Their final destination. Morgan had been heading there when they found Rick. He had been heading there basically as soon as he left the community, but something had always happened to keep him from going back. Getting Rick back to his family was good motivation for him, as well as the rest of the group.

"What do you think we'll find?" asks Morgan.

"That's the thing," sighs Rick. "I've thought of everything. When it happened, when I was… taken-" he swallows thickly, "-all I thought about was getting home. I didn't care how I did it, I just needed to get home. To my family.

"But the more time went on, the longer I was there, I started to think about what things were like for them. They think I'm dead. They saw me – Michonne, Daryl, everyone, they saw me blow up that bridge. To them, I'm never coming home. I'm just another body they didn't get to bury."

Rick's voice is shaky and hoarse, and Morgan hangs on every word, because this is the most he's spoken at one time since his rescue. "I started to realise that they'll have moved on. Judith won't remember me. She was too young. There's no photographs. Just some clothes that weren't mine to begin with and my old wedding ring. Nothing to remember me by. And Michonne – she'll have moved on. I mean, it's been seven years, why would she hold on to a dead man?

"It took me a long time to realise everyone will have moved on, and even longer to accept it. Because it's okay. If we get there and Judith has no idea who I am, that's okay. As long as she's happy, that's okay. And if Michonne has someone else, then I'm happy for her. Because all I want is for her to be happy. It's all I want for everyone I left behind. For Daryl, for Carol, for everyone. They all _deserve_ to be happy."

Rick visibly deflates as he catches his breath, and Morgan knows whatever he says next is the part that is keeping him up at night, the part that had him hesitating to leave the warehouse. "It's only recently I've started to think – what if they're dead?" His eyes are wide and glassy, his breath hitched in his throat. "It's been seven years. How many people have we lost in a single year since everything happened? Too many. It sounds stupid that I haven't really considered it, I guess. That I haven't thought about those gates opening and someone telling me that my wife and daughter are dead. But since I started thinking about it, I can't stop. And Morgan, I can't bear it." Tears are coming thick and fast now. "I can't bear them being dead. I'd rather not know. I'd rather never go home than find them dead. What am I supposed to do if they're gone?"

He pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, body trembling, his terror tangible. Morgan has no words of wisdom for him, no reassurance. He grips Rick's shoulder tightly and hopes his touch tells him what he cannot express in words; that he understands his crushing fears; that the same fears threaten to overwhelm him; that Rick's suffering is incomprehensible and unfair and he deserves to find his friends and family safe and well. But they both know that this dark terror is likely a reality looming imminently with every mile that they cover.

When Rick's breathing starts to steady, Morgan conjures up the only condolence he can fathom. "I don't know what we'll find there, Rick, no more than you do. All I know is, you _have_ to find out. If you don't, it'll follow you forever. You'll never move on, because you'll never know what you're moving on from. You have to know. You have to."

Rick looks up at his companion, bleary eyed and drained. Two traumatised men, together from the beginning, torn up along the way, and together again. Rick offers a fractured smile, the first one he has given in months. For a moment he is that man back in King County, hopeful and determined, on a quest to find his family.

"We should get some sleep," says Rick. Morgan murmurs an agreement, and stands to return to his sleeping bag across the room. As he turns away, Rick calls out one last thing to him. "Thank you. For everything, these past few months. I've not been…I've been different, I know, and I'm grateful for everything."

Morgan nods, but doesn't say anything. What else is left to say? The two men turn away, back to their beds and fitful dreams, awaiting the dawn to face yet another desolate day of travelling. Their destination may be an impending disaster, but at least they have each other. They have the rest of their mismatched group. And they have the knowledge that after everything they have been through, they are still here. Still marching on.

There is a flicker of hope remaining, however. If Morgan could find Rick after all this time, still alive despite unending tragedy on both their parts, then who is to say they won't find their home intact after all? Morgan knows that hope is still in Rick, is the only thing keeping him going. Tomorrow, Morgan will become their driving force, pulling the whole group towards sanctuary. He will do whatever he can to keep that hope alive. For his own sanity, and for Rick's.


End file.
